Goodbye

By

Monica C. Greer

I can hear the alarm clock in the distance, but to open my eyes would be to welcome the day that I have been dreading for the past nine months. With the country currently in the midst of determining a president, I am dealing with the fear of my loved one deploying to fight in Operation Iraqi Freedom. Once awake, my fear would become a reality.

As the alarm clock continues to encourage me to wake up, I roll over and look at the place where my husband would normally be. He's not there, having risen earlier to be at the squadron by the designated time prior to their departure. Over the years we had gotten used to the early arrival time for the Marines, even though the actual departure time could be five hours later. With departures scheduled before daylight, we always made the decision for him to go first, with the kids and me arriving later to say good-bye.

Today would only be slightly different than past good-byes. Our two boys had made the decision to leave early with Dad. Our oldest, Cody, felt that at the ripe age of eleven he needed to be there when Dad was issued his service rifle. I think he was trying to show how he could handle the responsibility of being the man of the house while Dad was gone. Our middle child, Colton, was still naive to the fact that Dad was leaving and simply said that he wanted to go "because I ain't ever been up that early, except to go huntin with Dad."

Anyone who has been around the Marine Corps knows that that their motto is "Hurry up and wait." It always seemed that there was some reason for the Marines to be delayed. Either the plane would be late, they would have to refuel or something as silly as the plane having to wait on the arrival of toilet paper. Departures just never seemed to go as planned, but today could be the day. This deployment could go just as scheduled. Today could be the day that they would actually leave on time.

Suddenly wide awake, I rush to get dressed then wake our two year old daughter, Taylor, and tell her that we have to go and see Daddy get on the plane. Making sure to grab my camera, to capture the moments, I quickly usher Taylor out the door and into the car. Once buckled into our seats I pause to take a deep breath. I can do this. Everything will be just fine. I still have a couple of hours before he leaves and he will be gone only seven months. With the thought of making it on my own for seven months, I start the car and begin the ten minute trip to the Air Station, all the time wondering how twelve weeks became seven months.

My life changed forever with the words, "Baby, I joined the Marine Corps." In stunned silence I turned from washing dishes to look at my husband. Who was this man standing before me? "You did what?" I said.

"Instead of going to the unemployment office today, I went to see a recruiter. I signed the papers and the only thing left to do is for you to sign some paper saying you can financially make it without me for 12 weeks. The recruiter is coming over tomorrow night to go over the paperwork. I should leave for boot camp in about four months." This was the only explanation my husband gave.

Was he kidding me? I knew that in our town, with the Steel Plant going bankrupt, a job would be hard to come by. But to join the Marine Corps? I don't know what shocked me the most, the fact that he had done something without discussing it with me or the fact that he had signed his life over to Uncle Sam for the next four years. We had just built a new house, I had just earned a promotion at work, I had finally found some good friends to talk to, and now he had joined the Marine Corps. Not to mention the fact that he was 27 years old. Did they allow people that old to join the Marine Corps?

The next night my husband and I sat on the sofa listening as the recruiter spoke of the benefits of being a Marine and the pride of wearing the uniform. In all honesty, it didn't sound that bad. We would have a steady paycheck, insurance and housing. Moving from duty station to duty station would allow us to see different parts of the country, and the schools on base that our kids would be attending were some of the best. Not to mention the people I would meet and the family environment that I would become part of. Listening to the recruiter speak, I began to understand some of the reasons why my husband wanted to join. Who wouldn't want these things for their family?

When handed a pen, I knew that the final decision would be mine. I could support my husband and join the Marine Corps Family the recruiter had talked about, or I could refuse and my husband would have to find another way to help support us. I quickly signed on the dotted line.

Never once did I think about the time that I would have to spend raising our children on my own. After all, the recruiter only spoke of the twelve weeks we would be separated while my husband trained at boot camp and I was naïve enough not to think to ask about future separations.

That weekend we began to discuss what we were going to do. What needed to be done to put the house on the market? Should we take a quick trip with the kids as a special family outing? What job would he go to school for? Where would we be stationed? How were we going to explain to the boys that daddy was leaving? How would we tell his parents, and mine, about the decision we had made? We were excited for the future and just assumed it would all work out. We had four months to get everything in order, and we would use every chance we had to do something special with the boys.

Little did I know that one phone call would quickly show me the reality of not only being a Marine, but also of being a Marine Corps spouse. Six weeks after we had signed the papers for my husband to join the Marine Corps, I arrived home from work and was met at the door by my husband.

“The recruiter called.” He said.

"What did he want?"

"A spot opened and I’m leaving tonight for boot camp."

By now, he was searching through the washer for the jeans he had just washed.

I simply stood there looking at him. So many thoughts ran through my mind—

I thought he wasn't leaving for at least another two months! The house was not even on the market yet.

What about our boys? At ages three and six, how would we explain to them that Daddy was suddenly leaving?

What did he mean he was leaving tonight? Why not tomorrow? What could he possibly do over the weekend?

Had he told his mother? What about his dad? When will he say good-bye to them?

What are you taking with you? We are so unprepared for this!

Eventually, my mind wrapped around the fact that he didn't have a choice. Rather than whine and cry, I chose to be supportive of the decision we had made. After all, the final decision had been mine. Without my signature, he would never have been able to join. As he packed his bag and made phone calls, I sat on our bed stunned. Finally with a nod of disbelief I thought, "Welcome to the Marine Corps."

Five years later, as I prepare to walk into the hangar, where our squadron is located, I wonder if I will ever get used to saying good-bye. My husband leaving early for boot camp was just the beginning of our good-byes. Over the past years I have had to say it often, not only to him, but also to friends and family. Looking now at my two year old daughter, who is wide awake and jabbering to anyone who will listen, I smile to myself at the thought of being as carefree as she, and opened the door to yet another good-bye.

When first walking into the hangar, I can't help but feel overwhelmed by the activity around me. My first priority is to find my Marine, but to find him I must make my way through a sea of people. Everywhere I look, a different scene seems to be taking place.

To my left is the Commanding Officers jet. The Marines have parked the jet in the hangar to allow families to take pictures of it, because this is a symbol of who they are. Our squadron is VMFA-122, the Werewolves, and they are excited to be able to go into a war zone, for the first time in many years, and do what they were trained to do. This tactical fighter aircraft, which is only one of many within the squadron, has a fierce picture of a werewolf painted on the tail and will soon be in a country flying missions specific to Operation Iraqi Freedom. Our Marines will be the ones maintaining the squadron’s jets, flying the jets and when needed, helping to destroy those who oppose them. The pictures the families are taking show something of beauty, but in reality, this is a force to be reckoned with. I wonder to myself if the smiling families realize what it is they are standing before. If not, then I hope they at least understand the pride that our Marines will feel when they launch our jets into battle.

Directly in front of me are chairs for families to sit together before their Marine leaves. So many emotions dance over the faces of the people around me. Some of these emotions I can relate to, others I can only imagine. A wife sits weeping while her Marine kneels before her comforting her, as best he can. A mother stands beside her husband as they watch their son talk with a fellow Marine, all the while keeping a hand on the service rifle slung across his breast. A Marine sits holding her infant son, knowing that by the time she returns from war she will have missed his first steps.

For the emotions on their faces, I can only imagine what they must be thinking.

The wife I can sympathize with. I've been there and am facing the same situation again today.

The mother I can only feel for. How do you send off your son to a land where you cannot touch him if he is hurt, hold him if he is scared?

The Marine who is a mother, how do you leave your child to go and do what you are trained to do? With my emotions close to the surface I acknowledge that this is the reason I am not a Marine.

Then there are those who are smiling and laughing. It’s not that they are happy about the deployment it’s just that these are the Marine Corps Family members that my husband’s recruiter had spoken of. These are the friends who come to support someone whose Marine is deploying and they are here to make us smile. They are here to help take our minds off what is about to happen. They are here to be a shoulder for us to lean on when our Marines have left. These are the close friends that we have made and the people who are now our family sharing in our good-byes. Just seeing them makes me smile and lightens my mood. With this final thought I wipe the tears from my cheek and continue my search for my Marine.

To my right are the activities that will catch the attention of my boys. The squadron wanted to help keep the children occupied, so at 5:00 am there are bounce houses, music, nachos and snow cones already in place. Occupied and hyper is what the kids would be later, but I am thankful for the distraction they will offer.

As I walk to the bounce houses I side step around the marines who are fast asleep on the floor with only their backpacks as a pillow. Only a Marine can fall asleep on a cement floor. I assume that this is yet another skill that is taught during boot camp.

Finally I catch a glimpse of my boys, but still no husband. Where can he be? I am feeling a little nervous about the fact that I can't find him. The time for the departure is drawing closer. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I quickly punch in his number and wait for his answer.

"Hello?"

"Where are you at?" I ask, and try to keep my tears from falling yet again.

"I'm right here next to the bleachers."

"Where? I don't see you."

"I'm right here in front of you. Don't you see me?" he calmly replies.

"No, I can't find you."

"Dummy, look right in front of you. I'm right here."

My eyes lock onto him smiling and my rising hysteria slowly diminishes. I quickly put my phone away and we meet each other half way. Before I can do more than touch him, Taylor is jumping into her Daddy’s arms and I am blocked from holding him by the service rifle slung across his breast.

"I couldn't find you and I was getting worried," I tell him.

"Yeah. Things are crazy."

At this point his attention is captured by our two-year-old calling for her Bubba and Coco, the nicknames given to her brothers, Cody and Colton. Of course, the boys are being entertained by Tux the Clown and the wonderful balloon swords he is creating for them.

As my husband and daughter start toward the boys, I look out the hangar doors and catch a glimpse of the commercial aircraft sitting on the tarmac. It sits there waiting to take our Marines away from us. The aircraft represents another good-bye, and once said I will have to endure the next seven months alone. The time for good-bye will come, but for the moment I want to enjoy the time we have together. Turning toward my family, I put a smile on my face and turn my back on the good-bye.